


Down the Road

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Teasing, early season, unrealistically angst free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24277444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: shotgun picks the sex act, driver shuts his cakehole
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86
Collections: Anonymous, SPN_Masquerade Spring 2020





	Down the Road

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](https://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/10986.html?thread=4046826#t4046826) for SPN-Masquerade: _While Dean drives down those long stretches of boring highway, Sam likes casual touches and stroking Dean off all slow and lazy to tease him to pass the time._

There hasn't not another car on the road for miles, and even the radio is turned down low. Sam can make out the faintest thread of Creedence Clearwater Revival singing about rain, when it hasn't touched this landscape in weeks. Dean's not looking at him, not really focused on the road either, one elbow poking out the window, sweat on his upper lip, sunglasses folded awkwardly through the pocket of his shirt, hand steady on the steering wheel, only the lightest of touches needed. He's somewhere a million miles away, and Sam selfishly wants him back.

The open window on the passenger side isn't doing much for the heat either, Dean driving atypically slow, not even enough to generate much of a wind when Sam lets his fingers flutter just beyond the wing mirror. Sam's shed his outer shirt, and even through the thin grey material of his t-shirt he can feel the heat of the leather under his back, the t-shirt sticking to the damp slick skin that's the result of four hours driving in never lessening sunlight.

Any other day, he'd bask in it, Dean's the one who doesn't like the heat, unseasonably dressed in an over shirt still, but there's an itch down Sam's spine, a want in his gut, that's not hard to decipher. He licks his lips, faintest taste of salt, and when he looks over at Dean, Dean's looking back.

Dean's smiling at him, eyes crinkled as though to ward off the sunlight. "You can take off the jeans if you want," he says, half suggestion, half leer.

Sam flicks him off. Rummages in the back for a bottle of water, coolest thing in the car by a long shot, pretends not to notice Dean noticing him as he drinks it, passes it over when Dean holds out a hand and watches him in turn. Dean's grinning around the water bottle, doesn't even pretend he doesn't like being watched. The bottle's empty when he tosses it back, eyes on the road again, flickering back as he reaches over to tug Sam's hair.

The heat outside is mirrored inside Sam, that same itch still needing to be scratched, fuelled by Dean's casual tug. He doesn't know exactly what he wants, but he wants something. Might want to get his head down on Dean's knee and suck him off like that, feel Dean's hands tugging through his hair, pulling at the strands, feel him try to pull his legs wider and get Sam deeper, moan of frustration when he can't.

Or hell, they could stop somewhere, out here, nobody's going to see them, alone for miles around. Get Dean spread out on the chassis of his own car, eyes shocked and wide as Sam fucks him properly, only the sun around them to see and the empty road. Let this feeling get twisted up in knots inside him, stoke him up more and harder as the sun beats down, until Dean finally fucks him against the coolness of a motel mirror, cold of it on overheated skin, Sam's eyes open so he can see what they look like.

He has to press the heel of his hand down on the too big bulge in his jeans at the thought of it, can feel Dean turning and raising his brows, mildly impressed, a little scandalized, heavy too warm hand coming down to join Sam, and the itch under his skin is crawling all over now. The heat of their combined hands is sinking into Sam's gut now, and he jerks his hips just a little, bucks Dean off.

Dean looks offended for a brief second, until Sam reaches out and puts a hand square on Dean's knee, like there's some convincing he has to do. "Do me a favor?" Sam asks, and before Dean can say anything petty like _what's the favor first_ , he crashes on forward. "Just, keep your hands on the wheel?" Asking Dean works better, sugar more than vinegar.

Nice and simple, Dean can and will do that, smirk curving his mouth.. "Yeah," he says, "I can do that. Hang on a second first though." He shoulders out of his over shirt, chucks it in the back, before he grips the wheel tight, turns to Sam and raises his eyebrows. The t-shirt is damp and stuck to him, even worse than Sam, and Sam, gives up on even the pretence of self control. Traces a hand down over Dean's neck, over the soft peaks of his nipples, tightening under his shirt, plain to see, the solid flat line of his belly, and yeah he's being a tease, and Dean freaking loves it. He gets off on this shit, more than anyone Sam's ever known. 

Sam can see it in the way he's smiling, looking straight out the windscreen and not at Sam, like this was his idea all along, and if Sam wasn't getting something out of this as well, he'd probably quit just out of spite.

"So," Dean says, as Sam gets his fingers under Dean's t-shirt, shock of his fingers on bare skin, Dean instinctively sucking in a little at the touch. "What's it gonna be? Road blowie?"

"It'll be nothing if you don't shut up," Sam says mildly, if he lets Dean start dirty talking their way through this it's going to be over in seconds for both of them, and this day is too long for that.

He can hear the smile in Dean's voice, even if he can't see it, focused as he is on Dean's belt, getting his fingers through the stiff leather and pulling it away. "Bossy little bitch you know that?" It's not an insult, Dean's been bossy since the day Sam was born.

"Just how you like it," Sam says, loses the train of his thought a little as he finally manages to coax Dean's dick out from his jeans and boxers, more difficult than he'd thought, even with Dean helping, lifting his hips and wriggling to give Sam space. Dean's half hard in his hand, blood-warm and perfect. Sam feints, just to piss Dean off a little, bends down for a second and licks, sharp salt-musk taste not unpleasant, but the angle's all wrong, so he just licks again, watched with interest as Dean thickens up in his hand, and yeah, like clockwork Dean's hand is in his hair.

Sam shakes it off and sits up. "On the wheel," he says, breathless, taste of Dean heavy in his mouth, and he licks his hand for good measure as well, can taste Dean on that skin as well, faint traces of him.

Dean looks a little outraged, eyebrows exaggerated, hamming it up for a non-existent camera, but he puts his hands back on the wheel. "You're a fucking tease," he says, like he hasn't said it ten million times before. His hands are sitting higher on the wheel though, easy access, and Sam slides across on his seat, leans most of his weight on Dean's side of the car, steadiness of Dean's shoulder pressing into him. He can see a touch of sun already on Dean's face when he's up close like this, the sweat on his forehead as well as his lip, and he's going to have fun with this.

Giving Dean a hand job from this angle is weirdly familiar, three steps removed from jerking himself off. Dean likes, wants it harder, but he doesn't mind slow and that's what Sam's dishing out. _Shotgun picks the sex act, driver shuts his cakehole,_ Sam considers saying, but he kind of likes what they have going on right now, and Dean will probably elbow him in the face. So he goes back to stroking Dean off, gets his fingers into the twist of cotton at the bottom so he can take it right from the base, wishes he could get at Dean's balls as well, but will take what he can get.

"When's the next town?" he says, and even in the heat of the car Dean shivers at the breath over his neck.

"Pitstop about 30 miles out," he says, turns his head just a little to catch Sam's mouth for a second, before he's back to the road. "But I warn you, I will kill you, and it won't be in your sleep, if you even think of holding out for then."

Sam hadn't really been considering it before, but he was now. Slowed the drag of his fingers over Dean's dick, thumb smearing over the wetness of his head, before he pulled his hand back up, rhythm lazy and smooth, not enough for Dean to come close to getting off from, but enough to keep him hard. He can see Dean's breathing pick up from this close, the way he takes a hand off the wheel to wipe his face, biting at his lip as Sam jacked him a little bit faster, tighter squeeze on the upstroke, as Dean thrust a little into his hand.

"Think you could hold out 'til then?" he asks, not in real seriousness, more curiosity.

"Three words Sammy. Rug. Burn. Dick."

The sound of Dean's voice, turned on and aggrieved at the same time, makes Sam want to laugh. "If you hold out until then I'll make it worth your while." 

"Sam, you try it, you so much as take your hand off my dick, and I will show you the only thing that will make it worth my while, and it's gonna get you arrested."

Sam can't help it, he laughs, and Dean takes his hand off the wheel, firmly closes Sam's grip around his dick. "Back to business," he says. "Otherwise we're not stopping in whatever godforsaken little town that's coming up and you can fucking whistle for a water refill."

With that threat, Sam takes him at his word, and jacks him off properly, watches Dean flush more, underneath the heat and the burn, the way he leans his body into Sam's, edge on edge as though that'll make Sam move faster. Dean's almost silent, muffled curse word falling from his mouth as Sam speeds up, gets his thumb slippery with the pre-come Dean's spilling all over the place, uses it to smooth the ride, tucks his face into Deans' too warm neck and bites the sensitive skin there until Dean almost yelps. He can't even see the miles go by, caught up in the moment, the way that Dean's trying to push up into his hand, motion limited by the car, his jeans and Sam. Strokes across the sensitive spot just under the head and Dean hisses, cock jerking in Sam's grasp.

Finally, he takes pity, can see Dean's about to snap, strokes him off fast and hard, just the way Dean likes it, perfect motion against the movement of the car, until Dean's head is falling back, his eyes only just barely on the road, on the endless miles ahead of them each emptier than the last, until Dean's shaking and coming into his hand, spilling onto Sam's wrist, as he bites his lip and clutches the wheel and it's a miracle of engineering and subconscious steering that keeps them on the road.

Sam's hard as hell himself, starts to shift away, and Dean grabs him before he does, holds steady on the wheel with one hand, bearing a straight line down the road, kisses him until Sam's ready to say fuck to the rest of the day and pull the car in now. Dean lets go of him at precisely that point though, glances down at his lap.

"A little problem there Sam?"

Sam adjusts himself, braces himself for the inevitable. "Not a problem."

Dean's voice is very earnest, very sincere. "I mean it'd be hot if you like, held out to the next town right?"

Sam picks up the empty water bottle from where it's sitting at his feet and throws it with conviction at Dean's head. Then he settles back into his seat and unzips his jeans, conscious of Dean's stare out of the corner of his eye. They've got all the time in the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/crit always appreciated.


End file.
